


Rules of Endearment

by PsychGirl (snycock)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/pseuds/PsychGirl
Summary: For Jim, everything has rules.





	Rules of Endearment

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Elaine, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Artifact Storage Room 3](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Artifact_Storage_Room_3) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Artifact Storage Room 3’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/artifactstorageroom3/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Originally published in Warriors 6 (http://warriors-6.livejournal.com/7003.html)

_From the 1972 Army Rangers Field Procedures Manual: Section 45 - Rules of Engagement._

_Level 1: The subject responds to and complies with verbal commands. Close combat techniques do not apply._

***

The first time Jim had called him Chief, he hadn’t even noticed. He’d been so surprised that his ruse had worked, so thrilled to have Jim in his space, that he’d hardly even known what he was saying, let alone what Jim had said in reply. Holy Grail time, all right. 

It was only later, curled up on the couch watching TV with Larry, too revved up to sleep, going over the events of the day again and again in his head, that he had remembered. _You’re losing me, Chief_ , Jim had said. Just before he’d fed Jim that line about being a throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man. 

Chief. He’d smiled, scratching Larry’s head absently, feeling a slow warmth gather in his belly. He hadn’t been sure why Jim had called him that, but he’d had to admit he liked it. 

More names had followed after that. Darwin, Junior, Coach, Tiger, Romeo, Hiawatha, Conan, my little guppy. That last one always made him smile. And, of course, neo-hippy witch-doctor punk. Sandburg when Jim was irritated at him, or worried. And Blair when he was serious. 

***

_Level 2: The subject resists verbal commands but complies immediately with any contact controls. Close combat techniques do not apply._

***

He remembered Jim coming to free him after killing Lash. He’d managed to hold it together the whole time that nutjob had had him, even when Lash was mimicking him, pretending to be him. He’d managed to keep his cool as he sat, still chained in that awful chair, listening to Jim and Lash hunt each other through the dark, abandoned warehouse. A crash; then everything had gone quiet. Another crash that had sounded like a floor or a wall giving way. Then five shots, abrupt and loud in the silence; one, and then a pause, and then four in a row. Bang. Bangbangbangbang. 

He’d even been able to stay calm as he’d listened to the footsteps get closer and closer, praying frantically to every deity he could think of that Jim had been the victor, not the victim, of that fight. 

But when Jim’s face had come around into his field of vision, his eyes full of concern, he had known he was going to lose it. He could feel the panic rising in his throat, feel his heart galloping as Jim had knelt in front of him and unlocked the heavy manacles, dragged the chain free. Then Jim had reached out and hauled him to his feet and he’d known, he’d known right then that he wasn’t going to make it; his legs weren’t going to be able to support him, his stomach was roiling, he was going to throw up….

And then Jim had pulled him into a hug.

Safe inside the circle of Jim’s arms, he’d pressed his forehead against Jim’s shoulder and fought back his nausea. Jim hadn’t said a word, had just held him and patted his back gently until he’d regained his composure. 

He’d started noticing, after that, how much Jim touched him. Affectionate little pats, on his head, on his shoulder, on his belly, on his knee. And how – _for lack of a better word_ , he chuckled to himself – Jim guided him, by placing a hand on his lower back, or on his elbow, or his shoulder, shepherding Blair in front of him through the doorway, or into the elevator. 

_Jim’s just a very tactile person_ , he’d told himself, and pushed it out of his head, or had tried to. That had been hard to do, though, with Jim looking like his version of a wet dream – tall, buff, gorgeous, with a killer smile and the most startling blue eyes Blair had ever seen. And it got even harder the more he got to know the person underneath the package, the more he came to realize what an incredibly kindhearted and sensitive guy Jim really was. 

Things had been really bad when Jim had been blinded by Golden. He’d had a hand on Blair almost constantly. Blair had been convinced that, most of the time, it was for reassurance rather than any actual need for direction; he was sure that, under most circumstances, Jim’s other senses were more than capable of compensating for his loss of vision. But the frustration and fear he’d heard in Jim’s voice when Jim had wondered aloud what he would do if he never regained his sight… that, he couldn’t bear. So he’d let Jim hang on to him, and keep him close, even though it had made him ache and shiver with need. 

***

_Level 3: The subject initially demonstrates physical resistance. Use compliance techniques to control the situation. Uses close combat techniques to physically force a subject to comply, such as come-along holds._

***

Not that Jim putting his hands on Blair always got him hot. Not at all. There was that little tendency Jim had to shove him up against a wall, or the side of a train corridor, when he was frustrated and at the end of his rope. Although now that Jim had better control of his senses that kind of thing hardly ever happened anymore. 

There had been the time Incacha had died. At first Jim had been motionless; his face pale and drawn in grief. But then, after they’d called Simon, when people had started coming in and examining the body, taking pictures, getting ready to move it… Jim had just gone off the deep end. He’d been shouting at people, threatening them, getting in their faces, and then, when Blair had tried to stop him, he’d grabbed Blair, shoved him, yelled at him. He’d been like a hurricane, a force of nature. But Blair had hung in there, and somehow – to this day he was never sure exactly how – he’d managed to get Jim calmed down and listening to him. 

And Jim certainly wasn’t above using a little physical force now and then, all in the name of keeping his observer and Guide safe. He had lost count of the number of times Jim had pushed him out of the way of imminent danger, knocked him to the ground to get him out of the path of a bullet or a speeding car, pushed Blair behind him as they were heading into dangerous territory, shoved Blair towards safety, usually with instructions to _call for backup, Chief_. He was sure he owed his life several times over to Jim’s quick thinking and his propensity to forcefully propel Blair out of danger. And he’d known that Jim would never purposely hurt him. Well, not physically, at any rate.

***

_Level 4: The subject may physically attack, but does not use a weapon. Use defensive tactics to neutralize the threat, including blocks and strikes._

***

He’d realized, intellectually, that Jim had a lot of issues with trust and betrayal. Issues, hell; he had the whole subscription. A mother that had abandoned him, a father that was distant and controlling, and a little brother that was spoiled and vengeful… no, Jim was definitely the poster child for dysfunctional family values. And his subsequent experiences hadn’t really improved his outlook, although thankfully his relationship with Steven and his father was getting better. But after a string of losses – being jilted by Lila and Veronica, losing his men in Peru, his failed marriage to Carolyn, Jack’s disappearance – it was no wonder that Jim had come to expect betrayal as inevitable in any relationship. 

He should have noticed it that night in the truck, when they were driving around looking for Incacha. He should have seen the warning signs in the way that Jim didn’t really answer his questions, the way he made it all about Blair’s dissertation. But he hadn’t. He’d been feeling insecure about his place in Jim’s life, brought into sharp relief with the appearance of Incacha, who’d had a holistic, organic relationship with Jim and his senses that Blair had envied deeply. He’d been wrapped up in his own feelings, his own anxieties, his own neuroticisms, and he hadn’t been paying attention.

He’d paid attention when Jim had read the first chapter of his dissertation, though, because he couldn’t believe that Jim – his moral, honorable friend – would do such a thing, especially when Blair had specifically asked him not to. 

Even then, though, he’d missed the point. He’d thought it was all about the research, that Jim just didn’t like seeing himself and his abilities dissected and described in scientific, clinical terms. He hadn’t realized, at that point, that the argument had really been about their relationship and Jim’s inability to believe that Blair wouldn’t hurt him. 

That had become clear, crystal clear, when they’d actually had that argument in the bullpen. Stung by Jim’s withdrawal and lack of trust, he’d retreated, so deeply wounded at the thought of losing Jim’s friendship that he’d had to work hard, when Alex showed up, to muster any concern over what happened to him at all. He had accepted, a long time ago, that he was in love with Jim, and now he’d realized that those feelings were never going to be reciprocated. You couldn’t be in love with someone whom you couldn’t trust. So he had gone along with whatever Alex had demanded, thinking that maybe it was for the best, after all.

He hadn’t counted on Jim bringing him back to life… no, literally _refusing_ to let him go in the first place. That, and their shared vision, had reawakened a spark of hope within him, hope that maybe he’d gotten past Jim’s formidable defenses, that maybe it was going to be possible to salvage something from the ruins of their friendship after all. 

But then Naomi had leaked his dissertation, and it had been the same thing all over again. Jim had turned on him, accused Blair of betraying him, selling him out. He’d severed all their connections, ruthlessly cut all the ties between them.

And, finally, Blair had seen the pattern; had finally understood, at a visceral level, that Jim’s behavior said more about the demons Jim struggled with than about Blair’s own faults and mistakes. But by that time it had been too late. He couldn’t reach Jim with his words anymore. 

So he’d done the only thing he could think of that would prove to Jim, beyond any doubt at all, that Jim meant more to him than any damned dissertation or doctoral degree. 

***

_Level 5: The subject usually has a weapon and will either kill or injure someone if he/she is not stopped immediately and brought under control. The subject must be controlled by the use of deadly force with or without a firearm or weapon._

***

He really hadn’t expected the badge. Not that he’d had a well-thought-out plan for what was going to happen next; he hadn’t. Since the press conference, it had been taking pretty much all the energy he had just to get through the day. He hadn’t had a lot left over for thinking about the future. 

So he’d been floored when Jim had handed him the shiny gold badge in its smooth leather billfold. Struck speechless, but suddenly pleased, deep inside, even when Simon had teased him about needing to qualify on firearms first. 

Once they’d gotten home he’d just stood in the loft, jacket still on, turning the badge over and over in his hand, feeling the shape and heft of it, trying to wrap his brain around what it meant, the potential it represented. Blair Sandburg, law enforcement officer. Officer Blair Sandburg. Detective Blair Sandburg. Detectives Ellison and Sandburg. 

Jim had handed him a beer, and he’d hastily stuffed the badge into his coat pocket, clinking his bottle against Jim’s plastic bottle of spring water. _Hell of a week_ , he’d said, a slight grin on his face. 

_Yeah_ , Jim had replied softly. He’d paused, then he’d taken a deep breath and met Blair’s eyes, his expression grim. _Blair, I… I don’t know… I can’t… I just…._

Blair’s heart had plummeted. _Blair_ , Jim had said, not _Chief_ or _Sandburg_ , so it was serious. Past memory had supplied in the other words. _I don’t know if I can get past this. I can’t trust you. I just need a partner who won’t betray me._

He hadn’t exactly expected a quid pro quo, but he’d hoped that the press conference would go a long way towards assuaging Jim’s fears and repairing their relationship. But apparently it hadn’t. He’d felt dizzy, disconnected, as if the ground was slipping out from underneath his feet. 

Throat tightening, he’d put the untouched beer on the kitchen island and had turned towards his room. _Actually, I… I’m pretty bushed_ , he’d said, frantically groping for some reasonable-sounding excuse so that Jim would leave him alone. _Think I’ll take a nap_.

And then Jim’s mouth had been on his, fierce and hard and hot; his hands cradling Blair’s head, his fingers tangled in Blair’s hair. And then neither one of them had said anything for a while. 

Blair grinned at the memory, and stretched, feeling the pleasant tug of soreness in his body. Jim Ellison was definitely a man of action rather than words. He rolled up on one hip, propping himself on his elbow, and gazed at his lover. 

Jim lay sprawled on the bed, asleep, one hand resting on his chest, his head turned slightly towards Blair. The moon shone in through the skylight, making it look as if Jim’s body was carved in alabaster, limned with silver. 

The illusion was so strong that Blair reached out; needing to touch Jim, needing to feel warm, supple flesh under his hand. He traced a path down Jim’s hard, muscled chest; across his flat, taut abdomen; stroking the tender crease between his hip and his groin, before sliding down and across his inner thigh. Jim’s cock, pale and elegant like the rest of his body, twitched sluggishly as Blair’s hand brushed past it. 

“No way, Chief; not a chance. You killed it, it’s dead,” Jim said, with a low chuckle. 

Blair raised his head to meet Jim’s sleepy, affectionate gaze, eyes half-lidded. “Sorry,” he said contritely. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Jim said, yawning. “How come you’re up?”

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

Blair shook his head, grinning, finding it difficult to put his musings into words. “You. Me. Us. The rules.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Rules? We have rules?” 

“Well, not _we_ \- you. _You_ have rules.” Jim gave him a mock aggrieved look and he laughed out loud. “Oh, yeah, you do. Serious rules.”

“What, like don’t flush the toilet after ten?”

“No, like how you show affection. Rules of endearment. It took me a while, but I think I’ve got them figured out now.”

Jim sobered, his hand coming up to cup Blair’s face, his thumb stroking across Blair’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve felt this way for so damn long; I just didn’t know how to tell you—“

Blair leaned forward and stopped him with a long, deep kiss. “New rule. No apologizing in bed,” he murmured. 

“I like this rule,” Jim replied, sliding the hand on Blair’s cheek around to the back of his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“So what you’re saying is that you like being ordered around, is that it?” Blair teased when they broke apart. 

Jim grinned. “Well, I did spend many of my formative years in the military,” he said. 

Something bumped gently against Blair’s hip and he glanced down to see that, why yes, Jim really did appear to like being ordered around. “So if I want to get lucky, I should tell you to drop and give me twenty?” he asked, chuckling.

“It’s a good start. Sir.”

He lay back, arms at his side, trying to keep from smiling. “Captain Ellison, I don’t hear you counting,” he said. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Jim’s voice was crisp, but his eyes, as he swung himself over Blair, were burning with hunger, and Blair shivered in anticipation. This was going to be fun.


End file.
